December

Behold that wilted splendor; the trees
are the same color as hamburger. I know the song
of the cardinal and it goes a little
something like this. Pangs twist
a belly, until it dawns, eat! The light in
early December hurts my eyes, and yours?
A chilled apple, a lit candle, and early
blues on WKCR. The smell of wormwood,
somewhere, is making me think of Long Island
City. What a person does on a Saturday is
purposefully radiant and productive. If
a stroll under the Manhattan Bridge brings
solace, go there. If a hat is needed, they
are sold all over Brooklyn.